She sat down at her laptop and engaged her legal brain. She printed the report five minutes before four and set it on Sarge’s desk, pointing at her watch. Sarge was on the phone, but he acknowledged her with a nod. She got a glass of water from the kitchen and returned to her desk, listening to him flip through the pages. She felt her iPhone vibrate in her pocket.
“It’s Joseph,” she told him. “I’m going to take it outside.”
“Fine, fine,” he said distractedly. “This is good …”
She took the call beside a trellis of flowering creepers.
“I’m almost at the office,” Joseph said. “Are you free?”
“Perfect timing,” she replied, walking to the gate. She crossed the road and climbed into his truck. “I have a surprise for you.”
He peered over the rim of his sunglasses. “What would that be?”
“A little video I took this morning before work.” She took out her iPhone and played him the footage. “The woman goes by the working name Doris. The men come from the bars. I spoke to a vendor of fritas on the street. Doris is her best customer.”
“This changes things,” Joseph said. “The perpetrator could be a client.”
She nodded. “Doris has some explaining to do.”
He put the truck in gear and entered the flow of traffic on Church Road. “You’ve made yourself useful. Well done.”
“One other thing,” she said, playing her advantage. “I’d like to talk to her alone.”
Joseph navigated the double roundabout by the Zambia Supreme Court and sped east toward Nationalist Road. Zoe waited, allowing him to make the decision on his own.
“I suppose she might find it easier to talk to a woman,” he said. Then he pointed at her phone. “Can you record the conversation?”
“With or without her consent?”
He laughed. “I don’t want to make you a witness. I just want to hear what she says.”
Ten minutes later, Joseph knocked on Doris’s door. When she didn’t answer, he knocked again, this time more insistently. An old woman peered down at them from a balcony on the third floor but withdrew as soon as Zoe noticed her. Joseph tapped his foot, growing impatient. Just then, Zoe saw two school-aged children—a boy and a girl—walking toward the stairwell.
“Excuse me,” Zoe said to them, “do you know if Doris is home?”
The boy giggled. He turned to the girl and spoke a string of words in Nyanja.
“What’s he saying?” Zoe asked Joseph.
“They’re talking about an animal—what do you call it?—a genet. It hunts at night and sleeps during the day.” He patted the boy on the head. “Zikomo,” he said, and the children ran chattering toward the stairs.
They knocked again on Doris’s door. After a while they heard the sound of shuffling feet, then the door opened a crack, revealing the face of Bright. The girl was dressed in pajama pants and a T-shirt. She stared at them fearfully. Joseph exchanged a few words with her in Nyanja.
“Her mother is taking a bath,” he said to Zoe. “Why don’t you wait for her? I’m going to walk around and ask some questions.”
“Muli bwange?” Zoe said when Bright opened the door.
“I’m okay,” the girl replied, gesturing toward the couch. “Wait here.”
As soon as she disappeared, Zoe took a seat and studied the room around her. The furnishings were simple and clean. The couch had a matching chair. The floor was covered with woven rugs, and there were curtains on the windows. Beside the door was a bookshelf adorned with half-melted candles and carvings of game animals. The walls, however, were bare, save for an ebony ceremonial mask that hung over the door.
Eventually, Doris appeared and greeted Zoe with a plastic smile. Clad in a conservative chitenge gown, she barely resembled the seductress who had purchased six bags of fritas that morning. “Where is the officer?” she asked.
“He’s outside talking to the neighbors. I wanted to speak with you alone.”
Doris tilted her head. “Would you like tea?”
“Please,” Zoe said.
Doris went to the stove and filled a kettle with water. “You are American?”
“I’m from New York,” Zoe replied.
“Ah.” Doris sounded almost wistful. “Lusaka is small to you?”
Zoe shrugged. “You can see the stars at night.”
They continued to make small talk until the tea finished steeping. Doris handed Zoe a mug and took a seat on the chair. Zoe reached into the pocket of her suit jacket and touched her iPhone, commencing the recording.
“Ms. Kuwema,” she began, “I want you to know that I’m not here to investigate you. I’m here because of what happened to Kuyeya. I need your help to find the man who raped her.”
Doris nodded, looking nervous.
“I know how you make a living,” Zoe said, speaking softly to lessen the blow. “I know you go by the street name Doris. I know that the man who was here last night is not your cousin. I saw the men who were with you this morning, and the other women.”
Doris stared at her.
“I don’t want to make problems for you,” Zoe continued. “But I need you to answer my questions exactly as I ask them, leaving nothing out. Will you do that, for Kuyeya’s sake?”